


a string that pulled me (out of all the wrong arms)

by patrickbrewer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, F/F, First Dates, First Meetings, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pride, Pride Parades, Talking, if you're optimistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickbrewer/pseuds/patrickbrewer
Summary: “Can you add an order of mozzarella sticks to that?” Patrick says, gaze still on this mysterious man he can’t seem to take his eyes off of. “And actually, here. I’d like to pay for him.”orPatrick runs into David in a New York cafe and feels an instant connection to him.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose
Comments: 6
Kudos: 127





	a string that pulled me (out of all the wrong arms)

**Author's Note:**

> i have been writing this thing for-fucking-ever. shoutout to covid for snatching literally all of my motivation! 
> 
> anyway, i'm happy to finally be putting something out into the world after what feels like years! 
> 
> i hope y'all are doing well and staying safe. remember to wear your masks!

There are few things Patrick loves more than a good spreadsheet and his favorite tea, but New York City pride holds a certain something that no computer or mug ever could.

Nothing will ever compare to the first time he witnessed it, just a few years back. Stevie had begged him to go with her, claiming she didn’t want to go to such a big city by herself. In hindsight, she likely just wanted Patrick to experience the thick air of acceptance and love that filled up all of the space not occupied by marching bodies. 

It was the last push he needed to come to terms with his sexuality and come out, so he supposes she was right to drag him over. 

He had never seen anything like it before, so many people packed together to celebrate themselves and their loved ones, not a disgusted face or hateful sign in sight. It was one of those things he later realized he never would have fully understood through pictures or videos. Being there, in the midst of so much joy, is a huge dose of positivity for Patrick every year, and he hasn’t dared miss it since that first time. 

When the parade ends this time around, Patrick is practically drenched in sweat, the New York summer heat clinging to his skin even tighter than the t-shirt he picked out this morning. Stevie has already shed her tank top, sauntering around in her plaid bralette and winking at every cute girl she sees. 

She’s already gotten 10 phone numbers, beating last year’s record by 3. Patrick can’t say he’s surprised, given how much confidence she exudes. 

They’re headed to a cafe they hit up every year. It’s the closest they could find to cafe tropical, with a plus of having normal sized menus and less risky food. 

Patrick can’t speak for Stevie, of course, but for him it’s a little piece of home away from home. 

They seat themselves when they arrive, nabbing a booth between an older couple and a few adults that seem to be around their age. It’s clear from their outfits and jewelry that they come from money, though Patrick isn’t sure how half of those sweaters appeal to the people in them _without_ the blistering heat factored into the equation. Then again, he’s well aware not everyone enjoys a good math problem. 

A waitress swoops by with menus and two glasses of water, introducing herself and assuring them she’ll be back in a few minutes to take their orders. Stevie opens up the menu, humming quietly, but Patrick doesn’t bother. He gets the same thing every time anyway, and he can’t help but listen in on the conversation happening between the people behind Stevie. 

“Oh my god, these mozzarella sticks taste like breaded wax. Why did you even order these, David?”

“Um–“ 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here. Especially with so many tourists in tacky dollar store clothes walking around.”

The woman makes eye contact with Patrick, lip curled in unhidden displeasure. He stares back, teeth clenching with anger and a stubborn will to make her as uncomfortable as possible. 

Growing up in a small town might have kept him from the latest fashion trends, but it gave him a hell of a lot of empathy. It’s clear that his closeness with family and friends is not an experience this stranger knows. 

Eventually she looks away with an eye roll, moving her glare to the handsome man tucked into the inside of the booth–David, apparently. He’s a little bit slouched, black sweater rumpled and eyes tired.

He has beautiful dark hair, a trait Patrick finds hard to resist. He doesn’t seem to fit in with his fellow diners; it’s obvious he’s in a similar position to them financially, but he holds none of the contempt radiating from the others. 

Instead, he fiddles with what appears to be a credit card, spinning it between his fingers. His silver rings shine in the bright cafe lighting, and Patrick finds himself unable to look away from his hands. 

That is, until Stevie hisses out a triumphant, “ _Yes_!” She slams her hand on the table, and Patrick can feel another glare being directed at him as he looks back at his friend. 

“Yes?” Patrick asks, eyebrows raising.

“ _Alexis_ just invited me to hang out,” she says, wagging her own eyebrows back at him. 

He looks up at the ceiling for a moment as he thinks, trying to track down the image of the woman in his brain amidst all of Stevie’s love interests. Braided blond hair comes to mind after a few seconds, then bi flag colors painted onto two cheeks. 

“Ah, _Alexis_ ,” Patrick says, lips tilting up in a smile. “The one that you didn’t stop blushing over for like 10 minutes.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stevie says breezily.

She picks up her glass of water and chugs it down in a matter of 5 seconds, a few drops sliding down her chin, before placing it back down on the table carelessly and standing. 

“You’re on your own, Brewer. I’ll only be an hour. Or two.” 

She backs up, a smirk stretching across her face, just as the rude woman from the other booth stands with the plate of mozzarella sticks in hand. They collide before Patrick can say a single word of warning, sending the plate crashing to the floor and the cup of marinara sauce right onto the woman’s likely priceless dress. 

“Oh god, sorry–”

“Are you fucking kidding me? My ex boyfriend brought this back for me from Thailand!” 

The cafe goes silent, all eyes landing on the woman as she throws the small sauce cup onto the floor. Patrick’s shoulders tense, watching it roll among the broken glass and soiled food for a moment before looking back up at Stevie. He expects her to look shocked or angry, but instead she’s holding back laughter, hand over her mouth as she watches the woman throw her tantrum. 

And _fuck_ , Stevie’s laughter is contagious. All it takes is one second of eye contact, one mutual look of disbelief, and they both lose it. Stevie doubles over, leaning onto the table for support as she cracks up, and Patrick covers his mouth, tears gathering in his eyes. 

The woman lets out a string of curses, stomping her foot before storming out of the cafe without a backwards glance. Then, as if he’s legally obligated, the other man at the table stands, chasing after her.

David is left alone, a resigned expression shuttering his face. He still has the credit card spinning in his hands, and Patrick wonders if this is a regular occurrence, if his friends always find excuses to leave him to foot the bill. 

“That was good,” Stevie says, voice breathy as she attempts to control her laughter. “I gotta go, but please take videos if they come back.” 

“Will do,” Patrick says, saluting her as she walks off. 

The waitress returns as the door swings shut behind her, equipped with a broom and towel to clean up the mess. Patrick bends down to help, holding the dust pan still for her to sweep everything into. Her gratitude is palpable, and she’s clearly frazzled from a long day at work. She speeds into the back, promising she’ll return to take his order in just a minute. 

It reminds Patrick of when he worked as a waiter one summer at his uncle’s restaurant. Generally it was a calm, homey environment, but there was always the occasional creepy man staring at the underage girls and the woman with the Karen haircut claiming the well done steak she ordered was overcooked. 

Customer service is hell in all of its forms. 

She keeps her word, though, and she’s back in no time, pen at the ready. Patrick orders his usual–chicken parm with spaghetti–and assures her he’s in no rush. 

He leans back in the booth as she scribbles down his order, catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. David has his phone out now, and he is typing furiously, a miserable look on his face. 

“Can you add an order of mozzarella sticks to that?” Patrick says, gaze still on this mysterious man he can’t seem to take his eyes off of. “And actually, here. I’d like to pay for him.” 

He hands over his card quietly, unable to stop himself as he watches David’s eyes fill with tears because of whatever he’s seeing on his screen. Patrick has no idea who he is, and he’s sure whatever amount he has in his account right now is nothing compared to what David has. But he remembers when he first moved to Schitt’s Creek and didn’t know anyone, and how that loneliness was only enhanced by his extremely slow discovery of his sexuality. There was a long stretch of time where he had no one to rely on but himself, and while it ultimately brought him to this peaceful place of acceptance, he wishes he had someone in his corner for the entirety of the journey. 

Paying for one meal at a cheap cafe isn’t going to solve anything, but maybe it will make David’s day just a little less shitty. 

Patrick closes his eyes as the waitress once again retreats into the back, finally allowing himself to relax now that the commotion of the parade and the pretentious woman is behind him. He’s grown so accustomed to sitting through Ray’s endless chatter and the general social dynamic of the town that he’s almost forgotten how nice it can be to sit somewhere by himself and let his thoughts run free. 

“I’m really sorry for...all of that. If I could just have the check–”

“Actually, your bill has already been covered.”

“What? By who?”

The waitress doesn’t answer, but Patrick can feel eyes on him, and he knows he’s been found out. He keeps his face neutral and his eyes closed, not letting on even as he hears uncomfortable shuffling in the next booth over and the retreating footsteps of the waitress. He’s sort of hoping David will just leave a generous tip and go without a word. He’s never been one to flaunt his good deeds. 

But alas.

“Hi,” a soft voice says, now much closer than before. 

Patrick cracks an eye open to see David standing at the end of the table, sleeves pulled up to his knuckles and fingers twisting rings. His head tilts as Patrick looks at him fully, allowing a smile to spread across his face. 

“Hi,” Patrick replies simply, sitting up and folding his hands on the table. 

“Mozzarella sticks?” the waitress says, coming up next to David and setting the plate down on the table. 

“Thank you.” Patrick gestures at the seat across from him, and to his complete surprise, David slides in. 

“Cheers,” Patrick says, picking up a mozzarella stick and holding it out.

That pulls a hesitant smile out of David, and he helps himself to his own, pressing it to Patrick’s. They eat in silence for a moment, stealing glances when the other isn’t looking, until Patrick can’t take it anymore. 

“You keep, uh... _interesting_ company.” 

David’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem offended. Instead, his eyes seem to roll automatically at the words, as if he’s heard them a million times. 

“They’re my sister’s friends. She met some girl at the parade and begged me to entertain them so she could bail and get a hotel room.” 

Patrick takes a sip of his water, washing down his surprise. 

“So you two don’t live here?”

“We do,” David says, looking down at his hands. “She just likes being flashy and drinking from mini bars.” 

“Ah, well, who can blame her,” Patrick says, offering David a smile when he raises his head. “I’m Patrick, by the way.”

He extends his hand across the table, and David meets him halfway. “David.” 

Patrick catches him eyeing the mozzarella sticks and can’t help but grin, a strange and inexplicable fondness overtaking him.

“Please help yourself,” he says, gesturing toward the plate. “I have a big meal coming soon anyway.”

He doesn’t say that he literally only ordered them because of David. 

“Thank you,” David says softly, sliding another one off the plate. He takes a bite, gaze going a bit distant as he chews, before he meets Patrick’s eyes again. “And, um, thank you...for paying. But I can’t accept that. Do you have venmo?”

“I wanted to,” Patrick replies, shaking his head. 

David’s head tilts again, his eyes wide and confused and bright in the cafe lighting, and Patrick is a little bit in love with him already. 

“Why?” David asks, seeming genuinely befuddled. 

Patrick thinks on his response for a moment, tapping his fingers against the table. He’d rather not reveal his life story to someone he just met, even if it did play a big role in what he did. It’s a lot to put on the shoulders of a stranger. 

“I thought that maybe no one had ever bothered before,” Patrick says, unable to help the quiet sincerity in his voice. 

David goes still, lips pressing together and shoulders stiffening, and for a moment Patrick thinks he’s offended him somehow. But then his eyes fill with tears, cheeks flushing, and it’s clear Patrick struck a chord. 

“You deserve better than to be treated like a walking ATM, David.” 

David wipes at his eyes, looking down at the table as he suppresses a few sniffles. Patrick fights the urge to reach out and take his hand. 

“Thank you,” David says again, a small, grateful smile curling on his mouth.

“Chicken parm and spaghetti,” the waitress says, making Patrick jump as she appears seemingly out of nowhere. “Need anything else?”

Patrick looks at David, who shakes his head. “No, we’re all good. Thank you very much.” 

David practically inhales the rest of the mozzarella sticks while Patrick eats his meal. They put the heavy stuff behind them, instead chatting about pride and laughing about the craziest outfits (or lack thereof) that they saw. 

David is funny. A little uninformed, a lot privileged, but warm, and kind. He talks about his sister, and the art galleries he runs, and why some random man across the cafe is extremely “incorrect” for wearing swim trunks as shorts, and Patrick is fairly certain he could listen to him narrate paint drying and he’d still be just as enthralled. 

They’re so deep in conversation that Stevie is calling him for the third time before he even notices that his phone is ringing. 

“Sorry,” he says to David, holding up a finger as he answers. 

“Hey.”

“I was starting to think you were dead,” Stevie says, voice flat. “I was getting a little excited about the extra room I’d have on the flight home.”

“You’re so kind,” Patrick replies. “I take it you’re done with your _meeting_?” 

“Yes,” Stevie says, not a single ounce of shame in her voice, “and I’m really craving ice cream, so I hope you still have some room next to your chicken parm.”

“And spaghetti.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll try to speed up my digestive system.”

“As long as you don’t stink up the bathroom too bad tonight.”

“No promises,” Patrick says with a smile. “Send me the address of wherever you want to go and I’ll meet you there.”

“Hurry,” she says by way of a goodbye, the line going dead a second later. 

Patrick shakes his head, placing his phone back on the table. 

He already paid the check around 20 minutes ago, so there’s nothing keeping him here but David. But boy does he have a hold on Patrick already. 

“Apparently Stevie has turned into a ravenous, ice cream craving animal, and I need to meet her immediately,” Patrick says, and because he just can’t resist, “Want to come along?”

David hums, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. Disappointment lodges in Patrick’s throat.

“As much as I’d love to, I think I’ve reached my quota for social interaction today. I think I’m going to head home, pop a pill, cry a bit, and fall asleep early.” 

“Solid plan,” Patrick says, nodding with faux seriousness. 

They walk out together, lingering by the entrance. Patrick isn’t really sure what to do with this. He’s never felt so instantly connected to someone in his life. 

But they’re so clearly from different worlds, and Patrick doesn’t see that changing any time soon. 

David breaks the silence. “Thank you...for everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Patrick says. And because he’s feeling soft, “I hope you’ll stop letting people make you feel like money is all you’re good for.” 

David smiles bittersweetly, fingers twisting together, and before Patrick even has time to panic or overthink it, David is pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Patrick,” he says, taking a couple steps back, smile still in place.

“Goodbye, David.”

Patrick watches as he walks down the street, silky hair blowing in the soft evening breeze, and despite all of the factors separating them, he has a feeling their paths will cross again.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on twitter @patrickbrewcr!


End file.
